


How To Win Homies And Influence Demons

by ancestrallizard



Category: Neo Yokio
Genre: M/M, some mentions of blood but nothing super graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 15:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18137684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancestrallizard/pseuds/ancestrallizard
Summary: Arcangelo works through his nascent feelings in a way that inconveniences and endangers the very magistocrat they're trying to win over. Any guess who that is? (The title is a misdirection. One demon is influenced, and no homies are won)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A Christmas/New Year's gift for @cybersurfed on twitter that I only just now finished...in March...

When one was in need of a party, who better to host it than a Corelli? In addition to a long documented history of city building, civic accomplishments, and (alleged) carriage horse theft, members of the clan were, quite literally, born party planners. Baby showers for new additions to the Corelli lineage were the social events of their year, setting trends for evening wear and loungewear but strangely enough not maternity wear. 

And, when one was in need of a venue to host said party, what better place than Neo Yokio’s most desirable club of the month, Grand Central Station terminal? 

With the transition of Neo Yokio from a city into a playground for the rich and famous and their live in staff, public transportation likewise deteriorated at an exponential rate. The last train ran through the station almost half a century ago. The building, rather than being torn down, was repurposed annually into whatever assembly space was in vogue with the young and rich. While the inside was hollowed out, the exterior was left alone for the most part. Likenesses of the demon war etched into the stone roof formed an impressive pantheon of armor and spears. Their faces were mostly gone, chiseled away by time and a short-lived publicity campaign in the early 2000s that carved boy-band faces onto some of the statues. Apparently some of Arcangelo’s ancestors were up there, something he chose to interpret as an auspicious sign. 

The inside is even better; big windows, lots of open space, and beautiful 20th century architecture. It was the perfect canvas for the perfect party, especially because Arcangelo had thrown it together in just under a week. Catering from Neo Yokio’s finest artisanal food carts. Orchestration in the form of his newest album’s debut, _Arcangelo: The Essential Arcangelo Experience_ (He couldn’t compose, produce, or write his own music, so he’d put together a production tea, all named Arcangelo so that every credit would have his name). Art design by a Banksy knock-off he found trending two days ago who scrawled “CATIPALISM BAD?” in $5,000 vantablack on the main archway which left, that ran entirely counter to Arcangelo’s personal taste but had a line of people taking selfies with it so it must have worked on some level. 

It’s loud, loose, and uninhibited, and Arcangelo is dressed accordingly. He sported licensed Prada torn jeans, a Burberry white t-shite and mauve jacket and Chanel-Dolce-Chanel-Gabbana (the two companies underwent a merger in the later 90s, split up the next day, then merged again the day after) belt studs. 

It was the perfect party and he was dressed perfectly for it, so he’d really like it if Kaz would pay any attention whatsoever to either of these facts. 

The magistocrat scrolled through his phone, staunchly ignoring both Arcangelo, who stood next to him on the balcony, and the celebration raging below them. 

Arcangelo fidgeted, hand uncertain if it should be in his pocket or out, and resisted the urge to check his own phone. He fought not to tug at his shirt collar. “Great party, right?”

This was not the first time he asked Kaz that question tonight, or the second, or even the third. 

This time Kaz responded, which was good. He responded by grumbling and rolling his eyes, which was less good. 

Flakes of gold-leaf drifted from vats in the ceiling in a light flurry, catching the flashing lights and generously coating the crowd below (he’d almost gone with diamond, but just this once aesthetic won out over a flagrant display of wealth. Ground up diamond was just not very pretty to look at).

A thin layer coated just about everything, and Kaz Kaan was no exception – sprinkles of gold dust had caught in his hair, along sides of face and the backs of his hands, and every once in awhile caught the flashing lights of the party and illuminated Kaz’s face in a way that made Arcangelo feel unsteady. 

“Why did you make me come to this? You literally saw me like a week ago.”

He smirked. “Maybe I just wanted to see you admit that I can throw killer party.”

Which sounded good, but then he tried to go for casual by leaning against the wall and putting his hand in his pocket, and he missed, and Kaz saw, this time, and none of this was going according to plan. 

Kaz showed him his phone. The bright screen cut through the gloom and showed a countdown timer. “You know if there’s no detectable demon activity within the next two minutes I can leave, right? And I will leave.”

The magistocrat looked back out over the sea of people and sighed. Not a melancholy sigh but an I’m-annoyed-and-I-want-to-go-home-and-soon-there-won’t-be-anything-stopping-me sigh (there was a quarter tone difference). 

“No, no no, you can’t leave yet.” Arcangelo insisted. 

Kaz raised an eyebrow. 

“I mean,” Arcangelo started again, sweeping an arm out over the crowd. “Look at all of these poor rich people! We’re just begging for some kind of demon attack!”

He scanned the sea of bodies until his gaze locked onto a guest loitering by one of the food carts, eating and by all appearances ignoring the other guests. Even from a distance, Arcangelo could spot dark sleeve tattoos and a pair of Oscar de la Renta sunglasses paired with a BVLgari bracelet, both items Arcangelo had lent him from the back of his closet. They were beautiful, but were likely the least expensive items at the party – they were all dressed in clothes carefully ripped and stained in ways that made them cost more than a year’s worth of rent in the few rentable flats left in the city.

“Any second now!” The guest took a glass of ground sapphire-infused sapphire martini and slouched very carefully across the dance floor.

He moved closer to one of the guests with their back turned.

He reached out, and – 

\- tripped, spilling his drink down the back of his shirt. The other guest shouted at him, and the tattooed guest ducked his head and retreated from the dance floor. 

“Okay, time’s up. I’m leaving. Aunt Agatha will send you the rest of the bill later tonight.”

Kaz Kaan left without a backwards glance.

=

Arcangelo stared after him, the unfamiliar sour taste of failure staining his palate. 

He left too, in the opposite direction, rushing down the stairs and diving into the bodies that swamped the dance floor. The sound-smell-sight of it all flooded his senses and nearly drove out everything but the present moment. It was immediate and hedonistic and something he would very much enjoy under different circumstances. 

Even skirting the edges of the crowd people recognize him. Socialites, nouveau-riche, and social media influences alike all reach out to him, their fingers like tangling seaweed, calling out to him as he passed (or, they may have been singing along to the sixteenth track on the album “Arcangelo”, a chorus of different enunciations of his name sung by choirs in twelve alternating styles).

Arcangelo found the tattooed guest back at the food cart, halfway through a soft pretzel.

He grinned at him. “Hey, Arcangelo! Great party! Love the Banksy. Nice pretzels too.”

Arcangelo snagged him by the back of his mesh shirt, ignoring his offended squawk as he dragged him away.

He moved them to a side hall behind two sets of doors. It was small, abandoned, and lit by ugly flickering fluorescents. The music of the dance floor was a distant thud beating through the floor and walls.

Arcangelo dropped the unresisting guest onto a bench – for as tall as he was, he weighed practically nothing. Arcangelo loomed over him. “What are you doing?”

The guest tilted his head. “Ah. Eating a pretzel?” 

“No, I meant – forget the pretzel! Why aren’t you making a scene!”

The guest took a bite of his food and chewed agonizingly slowly. Arcangelo’s blood pressure increased by the second. “I spilled a drink on that one guy,” he said, after he finally swallowed. 

‘Yes! One drink! I didn’t hire you to spill one drink!” He said. “Look, Kaz Kaan is on his way out the door but if you get back out there and – twist your head around, or, blow up some lights, or whatever it is that demons do – you can salvage this.”

The guest turned the half-eaten pretzel. Some salt fell off. “What if I don’t?”

If he didn’t?

A rare and unattractive flush of anger caught on the sides of his neck and spread to his face. “If you don’t? If you don’t you’re fired, you’re not getting paid and I’ll sue you for five times as much as I gave you up front and you won’t get another job in this city again, that’s what will happen.”

In a rational world – his world – this would have made the demon sit up straight, let out a string of apologies, and get back to what he was supposed to be doing and more. 

But the demon just stared at him a moment before unhurriedly returning to his meal. The intimidation must have worked a bit – his hands were shaking, sending more grains of salt bouncing to the sticky linoleum floor. Arcangelo resisted the urge to run his fingers through his hair in exasperation, potentially endangering his $5000 artfully-tousled look (he’d had a party to coordinate, and so couldn’t waste too much money or time on hair just this once).

The door slammed open. “Arcangelo!” Not the song – a voice this time. East Side Gentleman #2 ran up to him, out of breath and frantic. “I couldn’t stop him. Kaz just left with his butler.”

Arcangelo closed his eyes, overwhelmed by defeat. God damn it.

He opened his eyes to the sound of laughter.

The very cause of his distress was laughing at him in short sharp wheezes that exposed pointed teeth. His arms were wrapped around his middle as if in pain. 

Arcangelo was knocked at once from despair to anger. “And what,” he growled, “is so funny.”

The demon’s laughter trailed off as he removed the sunglasses to wipe tears from his eyes. He stood, and without slouching he was actually taller than Arcangelo. His eyes burned solid, vivid, pink, and all at once Arcangelo’s limbs felt heavy and numb like he’d just been given a shot of Novocaine. The sounds of the party beyond the room dimmed in his ears. 

“What’s so funny,” the tattooed demon chuckled, eyes burning into the back of Arcangelo’s brain, “is that I was agonizing over how I was going to get rid of the rat-catcher but you ended up chasing him off for me. How’s that for irony?”

Everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

What little Arcangelo could feel was a tangled knot of pain.

“ – gelo – “

He must have partied harder than he thought. He hoped he made it to his own flat before passing out this time.

“ – angelo – “

But – no – the party hadn’t ended, Kaz had left, and he went to talk to the demon to make him stay and – 

“Arcangelo!”

Arcangelo opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it.

He was in the dark, but there was still just enough light to send a bolt of pain straight through his skull. There was a hand on his shoulder.

He focused his bleary vision, and gradually Kaz’s form solidified. His palm glowed bright blue, and was staring down at him.

The second thing that hit him was the air. It was heavy, humid, and smelled so bad he might have hurled if there were anything in his stomach. 

He ran his hand through his hair and it came away wet, slick and gross with a thin layer of mud and other substances he didn’t want to think about. His entire ensemble was mud-stained beyond redemption. “Where am I? What happened?”

“A demon dragged you down to the old subway tunnels.” Kaz said, voice echoing off the walls. “One of the East Side Gentlemen got me, I chased him and got him to drop you and now we’re – um – “ He stopped, shining the blue light in his palm around. “I don’t know actually. A side tunnel somewhere.”

The magical light bounced off of crumbling stone walls and a low stone ceiling. Dirt and mud coated the floor, and the feeling under him sent a wave of disgust rolling up Arcangelo’s spine. This was more dirt than he’d been unwillingly exposed to in a lifetime. More blood too – his hand was badly scraped, blood mixing sluggishly with the grime. 

As he wobbled to his feet, he realized his knees are scraped as well, dull red staining the ripped holes in his slacks. His entire outfit was caked in filth and torn, not fashionably-torn but unusable-torn. Even his left pocket was a gaping hole, his phone probably left somewhere behind down the tunnel.

His hand flew to his right pocket. This one at least was safe and whole, as well as the object within it.

The blue light traced his form. “I was too late to save your clothes. I’m so sorry.” 

In any other circumstance it might have bothered him that Kaz apparently cared more about his ruined outfit than him, but Arcangelo was totally on board in this case. To destroy an outfit of this pedigree was appalling. 

“Did you kill the demon?” he asked, brushing down his shirt in a futile gesture.

“Nah, but he won’t bother us again.” Kaz answered. “I had to practically blast his face off before he finally dropped you.”

Arcangelo made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “I am leaving that joker such a negative review when we get out of here.”

The light flickered. “Wait. Did…did you hire the demon?”

Arcangelo’s pride bristled. “Of course I did. Do you think it could have gotten past the best private security force in Neo Yokio otherwise?” His force went everywhere with him, not as attendants like the East side gentlemen but as a wide ever orbiting perimeter, unseen by him for the most part but always on guard for potential threats.

“So, what, you hired them to make me stay?” Palpable anger burned in Kaz’s voice, scorching away any impartial melancholy to reveal something clipped and heated.

“Yes, and obviously it was the right choice,” Arcangelo argued. This was slipping farther and farther from him, but he dug in his heels because it was what he’d always done and why would now be any different? “You were on your way out the door, for whatever reason, and if that demon just stuck to his word things would have worked out fine.”

The light flickered as Kaz drew his hands through his hair. The damp heavy air almost sparked with energy, and for a moment Arcangelo was almost afraid. “I – you – that was because I was tired! Because I’d just spent a day and half trying to exorcise another demon! Which you might have known if you’d just talked to me like a normal person!” 

The shout echoed off the tunnel walls and through Arcangelo’s skull, and some part of him finally, finally realizes that me hay have made a mistake. 

Silence crackled around them, beating like a drum in Arcangelo’s head. Kaz turned away.

“We should get you to a doctor or something. Keep up, I jumped down holes on the way down and it’ll take awhile to get back.”

He stomped off through the tunnel, splashing whenever he crossed a puddle. Arcangelo had no choice but to drift in his wake, spirit leaden. 

With no sound, he had nothing to latch onto except the unpleasant feeling weighing him down that may have been something approaching shame. His mind drifted through the dismal tunnels and back in time.

=

The seed of the idea was planted almost a week prior. 

They’d been talking at a party. Specifically the after-after party of a Neo Yokio post-Christmas-pre-New Years fashion show, one of several high profile events hosted in the liminal space between Christmas and the New Years ball drop. It was quiet for a party, the soft light of dawn piercing through floor to ceiling windows and bathing it in soft orange light and complimenting the unrushed, casual tones of the guests. Most of their collective energy had been burned off in the twenty-four hours preceding it.

They were talking about the show. Well, Kaz talked while Arcangelo listened. He’d just gone to be seen, but Kaz genuinely went to watch, and he’d been unexpectedly captivated when Kaz talked at length about the artistry. Arcangelo’s appreciation and knowledge of art boiled down to its net worth, so hearing Kaz appreciate art for art was quaint. Plus, he was thrilled to even be talking with him at all. Even with their fledgling homie status, it was still rare for Kaz to give him the time of day. To get to talk to him for more than a few sentences at all was a rare treat, especially since he’d missed him when he got sick around Christmas. 

They’d been talking about the last designer to present, McKing, when his phone rang. Kaz pulled it out, then made a face. “Aunt Agatha. I gotta go.” 

He turned to leave, but stopped himself. “Oh, wait, one more thing.” 

He pulled something from his pocket and offered it to Arcangelo. “I was going to have Charles drop this off later, but I figured I’d just give it to you today. Or, yesterday, I guess.” 

It was an old gold pocket watch. An emblem from the war decorated the front, and it carried his namesake’s insignia.

Kaz smiled. “I hope you like it. Merry late Christmas.”

Arcangelo remembered the smile after the magistocrat left, after the party was over, and when he’s back home in his own flat. 

He turned the watch over and over late into next evening (morning? Time got fuzzy after a party), reclining on European goose down pillows and Egyptian cotton fiber duvet while a soft Maurice Ravel piece played in the background. The freshly polished golden casing glowed softly in the dark. It was a remarkable piece of jewelry, well-crafted and with historic value to his legacy that made it incredibly valuable. Something about fluttering in his chest told him that Kaz could have given him a last season Prada fanny pack and he’d probably react in the same way. 

He kept flashing back to Kaz’s smile, and that he smiled at him specifically. How their fingers brushed when he took the watch. It made his chest squeeze, but not in a bad way. In a nice, bubbly, almost giddy way. He wanted to see Kaz gain, wanted his attention, wanted to do something to make him smile. 

Was this…the next level of being homies?

He wanted to figure it out. He wanted to see him again, soon. 

He would usually go about that by making arrangements to meet Kaz in his own area – after another fashion show, or a sporting event, somewhere he could catch Kaz by surprise so he wouldn’t leave. 

But Arcangelo’s feelings were bright and fresh and he wanted to know what it meant right then, immediately, in the way of those who are not used to waiting or working for what they want. He arranged a meeting between themselves on Arcangelo’s turf, where he could shine the brightest and use allure to get him to stay, and when the nagging thought that Kaz might leave reared its head, he tasked his East Side Gentlemen with finding a demon strong enough to cause trouble and necessitate a magistocrat being there, but not dangerous enough to kill someone or (worse) damage the flooring and incur a lawsuit. 

Kaz would arrive, would have a demon to watch out for if that needed to happen, and Arcangelo would have carte blache to both spend time with Kaz and dissect his new feelings. 

Instead by some unforeseeable twist of fate, he was stuck under the city wading though dark, disgusting, muddy tunnels in more discomfort than he’d possibly ever experienced, following the footsteps of the one person he didn’t want to make angry. 

“If you didn’t come to the party,” Arcangelo asked, “What would you be doing right now?”

Reminding Kaz of the predicament they were currently knee deep in wasn’t the best idea but he needed something, anything, to break the silence, even more yelling.

Eventually the young magistocrat spoke up. “Well, I _would_ have slept in till noon, then wake up early to have a long mineral soak and not talk to Aunt Agatha or anyone else for the rest of the day.” He paused. “Except Charles. And maybe Lexy and Gottlieb.” 

That should have been the end of that, but Arcangelo’s thoughts took on a mind of their own, twisting in itself in circles as if it too were trapped in a labyrinth. He wondered what he would be doing if he wasn’t in his current predicament. 

Attending or hosting a party like the one he’d been literally dragged away from, maybe different in venue and catering but identical in how much the party itself meant to him, how much the people actually cared about him.

They’d want him there, of course; He was the most prominent bachelor in Neo Yokio. He’d show up, be seen, maybe escort another wealthy olde-riche person. He’d smile; maybe make a scene if he couldn’t draw enough attention. He’d go home at some ungodly hour to one of his many penthouses scattered throughout the city that featured kitchens stocked with gourmet food and other creature comforts. 

But none of them really liked him. They worked for him, or wanted to work for him, or get in his good graces, but there was nothing about him they wanted besides what he could do for them. Which was fine. That was how the world worked. And after the party no one really wanted him to be at, he’d go home to an empty penthouse his parents hadn’t been in since he was three and that hadn’t hosted anyone who didn’t wanted sex or money or fame from him who was usually gone by morning. If he wasn’t drunk or high enough and was too tired to get drunk or high again he’d just stare at the ceiling in unwelcome lucidity and wonder if it mattered if he was there or not. The others probably wouldn’t care much if he died on the way back, or in these godforsaken tunnels that seemed to twist and go on forever, except to see who got invited to his funeral and who didn’t like it was just another party.

If Kaz received an invitation he’d just throw it away. Which made Arcangelo’s heart hurt a bit, but it would be honest.

It was that honesty that made him want Kaz near him, even when he wasn’t trying to dissect feelings of next-level-homie-ness. Kaz never tried to suck up to him. He got frustrated with him often, was angry a ton, was definitely dismissive of him, but it was always genuine. The very few times he was happy with him, like when he gave him the watch, he was genuine too, and Arcangelo couldn’t remember the last time a person besides Kaz was genuinely happy with him. 

Arcangelo stopped short. Kaz stopped as well, light from his hand swinging over (and the sound of both of them halting made an unsettling ‘splooshing’ sound. How were they ankle deep in water now?) 

“Arcangelo?” Kaz asked. 

The young bachelor pulled out the Corelli pocket watch. The exterior was still smooth and unblemished despite their unspeakable surroundings. “I almost forgot I still had this. We shouldn’t both have to flail around in the dark if we can help it.”

Kaz moved closer. His face was lit by dueling blue and yellow light. “Why’d you put a flashlight in it?”

“Flashlight? It does this on its own.”

He held out the pocket watch. As soon as Kaz took it and Arcangelo let go, the light shut off. 

Arcangelo snatched it back, and the casing lit up again, shining soft golden light off the two of them as well as the inches of water they were standing in. 

He looked at Kaz, then the watch. “You’re holding it wrong.”

“How am I holding it wrong? There aren’t any buttons!”

“Well I don’t know how but you are.” He held it out again, its light barely catching Kaz’s face. A few flecks of glitter had still stuck to his skin despite everything. “Look, no buttons.”

Kaz’s hands cupped Arcangelo’s, and he moved it, examining it from both sides. “Why is it doing that?”

Kaz was touching his hand. Arcangelo cast his gaze around to avoid looking Kaz in the eye, from a puddle on the ground to the other man’s shoulder to the wall – 

Arcangelo yelped and fell back.

Kaz turned around. “Oh. It’s just skeletons. Relax.”

“Y-you say that like it’s normal! Why are there skeletons in the wall?!”

“Because I think we intersected with the Neo Yokio catacombs,” He answered, shining the light along the tunnel wall. Sure enough, there were other bones pressed into the walls, increasing in frequency and organizational complexity the further the tunnel stretched on. 

“When were you going to tell me we were in a bone pit?!” He whispered harshly, as if the skeletons could overhear him. 

“Never? Its not like they’re going to…” He trailed off, and suddenly turned off the magic, plunging them into absolute darkness aside from the smothered watch in Arcangelo’s fist.

Arcangelo almost asked him what the hell he was doing, but Kaz mimed for him to be quiet with a finger held to his lips.

And then he realized he could see Kaz. Not because of pocket watch, but because of new source of light, a faded pink glow emanating from the other end of the tunnel.

Kaz made a ‘wait here’ motion and took off toward the light.

Arcangelo waited maybe five seconds before following him.


	3. Chapter 3

He stumbled as he went; this tunnel branch sloped sharply downwards.

Kaz should have obviously heard him coming, but he never moved, frozen, looking around the edge of the tunnel mouth. And when Arcangelo caught up to him and looked over his shoulder to see what he was staring at, he understood.

The tunnel opened up into a low-ceilinged chamber, walls rougher than the ones they’d been wandering for what felt like eternity, not brick or cement but roughly carved earth like an animal burrow. Water pooled on the floor and a few bones poked through mud like garnish on a soup. In the center of the room, adjacent to another smaller exit, there was a pool, and in that pool, kneeling and facing away from them, was the demon. 

His body had changed. The clothing was torn, and skin and musculature looked warped, shapes and texture like something out of a nightmare. A steady glow emanated from along its spine and patches of skin, setting the entire cavern alight in a pinkish haze.

It hadn’t turned around yet. Maybe it didn’t know they were there. If they just carefully stepped back – 

“I know you’re there.”

\- It would accomplish absolutely nothing.

“Do you know,” the demon rasped, its voice so inhuman and other that it made the hairs on Arcangelo’s nape stand on end, “What these tunnels used to be, blood traitor? Before your kind turned it into a mausoleum?”

It gestured to the walls. It was missing a finger. “It was a spawning ground. For me and my kin. All of the children of Vepar.”

Now that Arcangelo looked closer, it wasn’t just a rough-hewn chamber. It was very intentionally carved. Fragments sunk in mud sharp edges like furniture. Maybe part of an altar, if the demon was indeed telling the truth? The demon turned around, and for a breathless moment he thought he would faint. Eyes flooded with pink, bulbous and lidless. Crooked pointed teeth jutted out from his lower jaw like an angler fish. Folds of skin on the sides of its neck flared like gills.

Even worse than the inhuman traits were the obvious evidence of the fight with Kaz. Some teeth were broken. His scales were blacked and charred. The lens of one bullous eye was cracked, viscous fluid streaming down its face alongside thinner streams of blood.

“But they destroyed it in the war. Did you know that? No one does anymore. Humans, led by the progenitor of that thing.” He faced Arcangelo, but the demon’s gazed seemed to be locked on to something unseen. The young bachelor had a feeling the demon would have gone on speaking to the dead if they weren’t there. “They unearthed us and burned it. I was the oldest of my brood, I could form a body and leave, but- “ He shook his head, drops of blood splashed into the pool. “I couldn’t protect them. They died and I could do nothing.”

He started to limp and stumble toward them. Kaz held out arm, blocking Arcangelo and motioning him backwards.

“I never found any others, no matter how long or how far I looked. I am the last. I thought if I brought his blood here, I could do right by them before my life was over. I wanted that much.”

The demon sighed, deeply, like the final gasp before death. “Finish this, blood traitor. I know I won’t find peace.”

Kaz’s stance shifted fluidly from surprise to combat ready, fists alight with magical energy that sent sparks bouncing off the bones around their feet. The demon’s eyes and spinal markings flared.

Arcangelo looked between them and violently realized that this could end with Kaz or both Kaz and the demon dead. He then made what was probably the stupidest decision of his life so far.

He stepped past Kaz (“Arcangelo what are you _doing_ ”), moving toward the demon with as much stature and bearing as social media trendsetting classes had taught him. It still didn’t stop black and freezing water from sloshing into shoes and lapping at pants, or the claxon rings of sheer terror virtually deafening him. He had no idea what he was doing. 

He did not have the capacity to describe the fear splintering his bones. It was the terror of one who, used to monopolizing his own and others’ lives completely, now faced a force outside of his control. The demon could do anything it wanted to him, would probably kill him going by his feelings toward his family, and he had no way to stop it. His money and his status were worthless here and his name damned him. He was powerless.

Distantly he thought, Oh my god is this what regular people feel like all the time?

Arcangelo didn’t look it in the face, afraid of a hypnosis repeat, so he looked at the reflection in the pool. It didn’t crush him or breathe fire or whatever it was demons did to people. It just stared. The smell of rotten shellfish and briny water swirled his stomach.

Arcangelo held out his open, scraped hand. He opened his mouth, and words flowed out as if by instinct. “Blood for blood. I will give my own freely and set your kin to rest, if you swear on Vepar and your forebears that you will leave the magistocrat Kaz Kaan and myself unharmed, and will never attempt to harm us again.”

Truthfully, he’d be more freaked out by being suddenly possessed by a legal textbook or something if it didn’t look like it was working. The demon still hadn’t hurt him, and by what little he could see in the reflection in the water, it was considering the offer. Who knew potential concussions made people this eloquent?

He raised his eyes up to the demon’s, and something he could not named passed between them, some kind of energy or intention. It nodded, and Arcangelo knew in his core that it would not violate the contract.

He squeezed his fist, ignoring the fresh sting of pain. Beads of red squeezed from the scrape and dripped into the water below.

The demon tracked every droplet like it was deathstalker scorpion venom (which is not just a random reference that stuff is super expensive look it up). After the ninth droplet fell, the demon slumped, as if the possibility of a fight was the only thing keeping it afloat. 

Arcangelo’s strange confidence melted away like gold-flaked ice cream in the height of summer. It was just him and exhaustion and that beast that wanted to kill him not a few minutes ago. The demon stared a moment longer, like it wanted to say something, but he trudged to the other side of the chamber, and the other exit, without another word to him. It took the pink light with him, gradually casting Arcangelo in darkness.

He should have been angry. And he was, very angry, angry about his wrecked party and his ruined clothes and being dragged through abandoned subway tunnels and his ruined fledgling homie status with Kaz (though, a sudden introspective voice he didn’t have the energy to fight off mentioned, he’d pretty clearly ruined that himself). 

But he still possessed a gut-repulsion to seeing violence in person. Plus, he didn’t want Kaz to get hurt, or even the demon to get hurt anymore. And he’d averted that. But if was just limping off to die alone in some hole underground, was that much better?

The demon left, submerging in the deeper water, and Kaz was back next to him in an instant, firing off a question a second. “What the hell was that? How did you make it listen to you? Where did you learn to do that?”

Arcangelo just shook his head, because hell if he knew. He swayed, knees feeling less like knees and more like cold jelly. Or glue? Something wobbly. His brain wasn’t wording good.

“Arcangelo?!”

His brain wasn’t remembering good either. He didn’t remember falling over on Kaz. Comfortable though. “I’m’a take a qui’nap.”

It was then (he learned a few days later, as he was liberally phasing in and out of consciousness at the time) that the Corelli private police squad finally found them.

=

He briefly regained clarity on the ride to the hospital.

“Kaz? What did he mean by blood traitor?”

“Um.” He patted Arcangelo’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it man.”


	4. Chapter 4

The concussion isn’t good, but it wasn’t as bad as a concussion could be. The bacterial infections that set in due to his open scrapes and wounds being exposed to something in the dirty water is slightly worse that mild. As a result, Arcangelo spends a fair amount of time recovering in his penthouse closest to grand central terminal. It came equipped with medical supplies and staff, mostly set up to mitigate a bad trip or severe dehydration, but it didn’t take long to get it set up to treat a bad bacterial infection. He’d even gotten some free gauze from a luxury medical treatment startup in Williamsburg in return for promoting it on his podcast.

He spent most of his time alone. He could call anyone he wanted to keep him company, paid or unpaid. If this were even the recent past he would have, arranging for a whole host of people to fill the place just to stave off the quiet.

But there’s something more pertinent on his mind, and he didn’t want anyone to see before he could properly assess if it would affect his image. While he could be away from prying eyes with a reasonable excuse not to see anyone, he read. Specifically, he read about Neo-Yokio’s history, and about the demon war.

He didn’t mean to delve too deeply. He’d never been the scholarly type, but due to curiosity or lack of stimulation or who knew what he found himself drawn into it. In to the events of the war, down to the minutiae of what happened each day. He continued to read even after passing what he initially set out to find – the record of the destruction of Vepar’s spawning ground in the tunnels. It’s a footnote half sentence in a list of other victories, and all the description mentions is that it was a battle, not destroying a nest. Did the demon in the tunnel lie to him after all? 

Arcangelo read about the war and beyond, about the laws and mandates set by humans after the war that established the initial gulf between the rich and the rest of the city, how other rules established in the hundreds of years since widened the gap even further, making the rich richer and poor poorer by enormous degrees and subjecting many, many people to hardship after hardship.

Why would anyone ever want to learn things about the world? It was all so depressing.

It was far more mental stimulation he’d had in a long time (disregarding mind altering substances), possibly ever, and it all sent his thoughts churning day and night, his priorities and assumptions turning over in his brain as his world view’s foundations, once unbreakable as a lonsdaleite ring, began to strain. 

It kickstarted his brain in other ways, too. On the fourth night at home he woke all at once and said, staring wide eyed at the ceiling, “Oh my God I have a crush on Kaz Kaan oh my _God_.”

(He also ended up with other midnight revelations. Later that same week he woke again, eyes wide in the dark, and thought that a finite earth and finite resources cannot fuel infinite economic growth and to treat it as such only setting ourselves up for future disaster, but as this was unrelated to his current love life he fell back asleep. Only time would tell if he remembered it during daylight hours).

In lieu of any serious self-reflection, he turned to explore his own heritage, but that journey stopped almost as soon as it started. No matter how much he looked or told others to look, he could not find much about the earliest Corelli’s beyond his namesake, Theodore Corelli I. He appeared when the forces of humanity were at its lowest point in the war and changed the tide. He enjoyed well-earned fame for it later in life and made a name for himself as a politician. But there was no recorded family and no connections before he came to New York. The family tree started with him by all accounts when he married into an old money family from Spain a few years after the war’s end. 

He did find a rare log book written a few years after the war that might have contained some information on the first Corelli, but there was only copy and it was kept under lock and key in the Neo-Yokio public library, checked out to patrons but unable to leave the building. 

Arcangelo had never set foot in a library in his life, apart from one time back in elementary school when he got lost looking for the yacht docking room. It was no trouble – he could send one of his legion of assistants to take pictures of it.

But he was starting to go stir-crazy at home and the concussion and infections were probably fixed enough for him to go out. Nothing bad would happen – consequences were for poor people.

He was barely up the fifth step of the central branch library building after being chauffeured in the La Voiture Noire reserved for errands before he was hunched over gasping for breath.

Maybe consequences were for rich people too, he thought, wiping sweat away with a handkerchief while leaning on a sphinx statue on the topmost step.

=

There were books, like he expected. Classical Neo Yokio architecture being absolutely wasted on something he thought had gone out of vogue decades ago, also like he expected, and a lone receptionist behind a wide desk, also to be expected. He stood and waited for them to recognize who he was, then gave in and told him when no recognition was forthcoming (who in Neo Yokio didn’t know who he was by this point honestly, it beggared belief).

He didn’t expect all the people. It was absolutely packed, every table full and more bodies filling the spaces between stacks and the upper levels. The sheer amount of bodies wasn’t doing the smell of the place any favors; the mix of human bodies and musty books blended to make something entirely unwelcome. Maybe this was where city residents went during the day after the city installed the 9 to 8 pay-to-stand street corners.

The librarian finally came back with the book, and the young bachelor is in higher spirits despite the crowd. There were too many people, but it was no one he knew, and no one seemed to be recording themselves or taking pictures. He was more than confident that he would walk away from this unnoticed.

“Arcangelo?”

And as it turned out that confidence was entirely misplaced.

Arcangelo carved a smile on his face and greeted the one person he did not want to talk to at the moment. “Kaz Kaan my favorite magistocrat slash fashionista, how are you?”

Kaz looked fine, completely unharmed from the impromptu sewer adventure. But he was frowning at Arcangelo like the jacket he’d just sampled was a lower thread count than advertised. 

He answered the question with a question. “What are you doing here?”

And wow did Arcangelo really wish his feelings revelation would have waited a few more days because the thing taking up a good 70% of his concentration was how nice he looked in his Armani working suit.

Arcangelo winked. Then said ‘wink’ in case Kaz missed it. “Oh, you know.” 

Kaz probably did not know, because Arcangelo didn’t elaborate, because he hadn’t thought about what to do if someone saw him there and was just hoping Kaz would either not care enough to think about and or fill in the blanks on his own. “Why, what are you doing here?”

Kaz shot him a withering look. “The library called in about a demon blowing up shelves or something in the archives.” His gaze sharpened. “Wait. Did you hire this one too –.”

“No! No. no.” Arcangelo objected. “I have never been here before, have never talked to demons here before, and was just about to leave.”

Kaz shot him another very distrustful glace, then disappeared into the crowd. 

Archangel was suddenly exhausted, whether from sickness, the sweltering heat of the building, or from the unexpected confrontation, he didn’t know. He stared down at the yellowed and worn book in his hands, leathered bound with a nearly erased sigil that looked sort of like a dove. 

He could just leave. 

He could go back to his chauffeur, go home, wait some arbitrary amount of time, maybe a few weeks, and then barge back into Kaz’s life with all the grace and stage presence he always had. He’d say something suave and flippant, Kaz would roll his eyes, and things would go back to the way they were before.

He went after Kaz instead. 

It was kind of like the end of a romantic comedy, or a soap opera he guest starred in once, only instead of someone running through a twentieth century airport to stop their significant other from getting on an airplane it was someone hobbling thought stacks in a library after someone they wished could be their boyfriend maybe to say something he never thought he’d say in his life.

“Kaz, wait!”

He finally caught him before went into a side door underneath a long line of vibrant tableaus of scenes from the demon wars.

“Arcangelo?”

“I- um – hang on,” The bachelor gasped, leaning on a shelf. “One second.”

“Should you be out of bed?”

“Probably not,” he choked out. 

He caught his breath, grasped for the courage and strange instinct that guided him underground, and found nothing. But this was important, so he pushed through his dry mouth and sweaty palms.

“I am … compunctious.”

Kaz blinked, slowly. “What.”

This wasn’t going the way he wanted it to. He’d technically said the word ‘sorry’ before, but never meant it, never said it while knowing what he did was in the wrong and how totally he was at fault.

“I am…regretful? Contrite? Injudici – ”

“It’s okay,” Kaz finally, mercifully interrupted. “It’s okay, I get it. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Arcangelo tried again. “It was rude and uncouth to have hired a demon to make you stay at the party. I shouldn’t have done it. I never wanted you to get hurt. And, thank. You. For helping me.”

“Well, no.” Kaz amended. “That wasn’t okay, like, at all. But I honestly expected you to just follow me to the department store and act like nothing was wrong. That, and what you did down in the catacombs…I’m actually kind of impressed. Didn’t think you had it in you”

Arcangelo was torn between warring reactions – annoyed that the apology was apparently taken so lightly – Corelli’s did not apologize easily – and basking in the sudden praise.

He still didn’t know how he knew what to do and say to get the demon to leave them alone, and he almost felt bad taking credit for something he hadn’t done (which would have been a first). But chose to move forward on shaking legs on his own, even when he felt like he was going to shake apart because, as absurd as it felt in hindsight, what thought felt at that moment most was ’if Kaz dies I can’t but a replacement’.

Maybe he should have quit while he was ahead, but he’d come this far, might as well push it. “Actually. I wanted to ask back at the party if you’d guest host on my podcast? Since going off hiatus in a few days.”

Or. Wait. Trying to commandeer the situation to fit himself was how he got into the mess to begin with.

“Or! Whatever you would like to do, as well. Would also be good.” He shrugged. “I…just want to spend some time. If that’s okay.”

This felt more vulnerable than ever before, including when he put himself defenseless before a wounded angry demon. .

Kaz nodded. He held up a finger. “One chance. I’m free later this week, wanna hang out Saturday night?”

Arcangelo nodded and hoped it didn’t look as desperately eager as it felt, as unearthly shriek ripped through library, set ears ringing and knocked books off of the shelves.

Kaz shrugged, apologetic. “I gotta get that. Call you later?”

He smiled – at him! Smiled at him! – and left, palm alight with magic. He watched him leave and heart felt like going to grow wings and fly away. It just smile did that, he should probably do something to piss off the magistocrat soon, at least a little bit. Apparently he couldn’t cope with even vaguely positive attention without suffering some kind of cardiac problems.

Later that night, his phone buzzes.

_Smthn came up. snday good?_

sunday ended up being pretty damn great.


End file.
